After All
by SingleHearts
Summary: Takes place months after Malia finds out about her mom. (Specifically: Season 4 ep 8) Malia had left Stiles in search for her mom and Stiles hadn't taken the leave oh so well. He misses Malia to the point of imagining her and falling back into insomnia. He no longer trusts himself to distinguish reality from dream. [Rated M just to make sure]
1. Things That Can't Be Long Hidden

**HOLD IT! PLEASE READ THE BOLD LETTERING (sorry if its too long _)**

**THIS IS A REVISED UPDATED VERSION OF "STILES AND MALIA: AFTER ALL" IT IS NOT YET COMPLETED. **

**I am testing this because "Stiles and Malia: After all" was my first fic ever and well I'm not really pleased by it, but i have gotten followers and favorites and WOW it is awesome. I just wanted to see if this version is liked more than the previous and if so I shall continue it until it sort of finishes off like the original one. **

**So pretty please! Leave a review if you can, it will help me a lot. Just so i could know what style people seem to like best, i am extremely curious to know. Also, since I am currently revising UNKISS ME. **

**Okay, i hope you don't get bored. This version is not, i repeat not EXACT to the original. **

**I am keeping the original just so people who had favorite it, still have it on here. =) [it is the 3rd chapter or 3rd page]**

**Thank you and enjoy. PLEASE REVIEW, PRETTY PLEASE!**

He enters his room—tired. It is a Full Moon tonight, and he can't get his mind to rest. He can almost feel the synapses in his brain firing like shotguns. He is feeling overly stimulated, every noise and shadow leaves him gasping for air. There is an internal battle playing in his head and it's leaving him physically drained and mentally scarred.

He just wants to rest; he wants to sleep.

He hasn't had a good night's sleep since, well—

It's been days, weeks, maybe even months since he last slept a good 5 hours straight. He can't really remember the last time he's had a good rest. He can't remember a lot of things actually. Lately he's been having trouble distinguishing fiction from reality. It may have something to do with the dark circles under his eyes or his constant heavy eyelids.

Stiles throws his keys on his desk; he spends most of his sleepless nights cruising around the neighborhood in his jeep. It keeps him from gnawing and clawing at his skin in a restless attempt to keep distracted.

He massages the back of his neck and sighs. It is 5 in the morning, and he already knows it is going to be a shitty day.

He sneaks a quick glance towards his bed; he is dreading having to sit down on the corner of his mattress only to stare out the window, waiting for dawn to break into his room—a behavioral sign that proves he is definitely not okay.

He could pace around in his room instead, while he waits for the rest of the world to wake up. He could pass the time weaving worries in his mind like some newfound weaving expert. Worries are never lacking in Stiles Stilinski's life, it almost seems that he has a life-worth of worries.

There are the unpaid bills, the increasing wrinkles on his father's face, the debts, and the overwhelming feeling that something terrible is going to happen. There is the burdening feeling of feeling utterly useless and the memories proving that he actually is. The constant replays of the _what ifs _and the _it should have been me. _ There are the regrets and the laborious punishing self-guilt, hitting him like a menacing whip.

He could go all night and day pacing in his room, weaving masterful dark never ending tapestries in his mind. But he doesn't want to do that, because his brain is already pounding like a fucking dong. And he needs to be migraine free when he confronts his dad, once again, about getting a job.

His dad will never tell him, but he has noticed the way his father never seems to be home now. He spends his time working extra hours, trying to pay off Stiles' medical bills. Stiles told him that they needed to help each other, take care of each other, but his father told him "no" when he mentioned a part-time job.

The Sheriff wants his son to graduate high-school, and with Stiles' constant absences and lack of attention the probability of a High School diploma in the next year is looking incredibly low. A part-time job just won't do it; it is the father's responsibility to pay the bills not the child's.

Stiles is dreading the moment he tells his father that college is just not an option at the moment. He hasn't even bothered to look at any college applications. Unlike Scott, Lydia and Kira he isn't applying; he simply can't afford it.

He uses the heel of his hands to massage his tired eyes, and slowly turns to face his bed. He is exhausted, he might try to lie down and close his eyelids for just a few minutes. He blinks a few times before his vision settles on a familiar silhouette standing just on the other side of his clear glass board. His heartbeat catches in his throat, and he forgets to exhale for a few seconds.

He needs to fight the urge to tear down the papers taped on his board when he remembers to breathe again. It's useless; as soon as his mind clears and his field of vision opens, the figure will disappear, just like it always does.

It has been weeks since he last had a hallucination, making him run into empty air with outstretched arms like a maniac. The first time he had one, he stumbled out of his bed, blankets tangling on his ankles as he fell on his knees, crawling his way to the window. His heart had almost burst through his chest, as his whole body shook with the incapability of reaching out, with the fear of being too late.

He had almost jumped out of the window, with every intention of following nothing at all. Luckily, his father had been home that night to hear him scream out like a frantic delusional maniac. The Sheriff had to hold on to his son that night to keep him from running out the house, bare-feet, in search of a presence that was no longer part of their lives. The next morning, Stiles had tried to avoid his dad because whenever he met his eyes, sadness spilled out of them like a broken faucet.

From that night on, he continued having hallucinations in the most unexpected moments: snippets of blonde tips disappearing around a corner of the hallways back at school, the outline of memorized curves standing out in the distance, and a comforting silhouette climbing through his window late at night.

He fell for them a couple of times, he couldn't help it. He was in desperate shape; just like a lonely man stranded in a dessert for days without water, with a mirage of an oasis lying before him. He had to run, he had to reach out or else he might desiccate. Yet, with each realization that it was just another trick of his brain—a mocking mirage—he actually felt himself wither a little more inside.

He sighed once again, letting his head fall in self-pity. This has been going on for far too long already. He needs to stop thinking about her; he needs to forget.

_She isn't coming back; Malia is never coming back, _but facts are easy to ignore when they don't want to be accepted as the truth. This was his unconsciousness telling him that he is still clinging onto the false alarms of desperate hope. And hope is simply the worst enemy of the desperate tormented soul, because here is hope mocking him once again with the memories of Malia Hale.

* * *

Stiles Stilinski just wants to rest, he wants to close his eyes and not think for once. He doesn't want to dream, he doesn't want to hope, he simply wants to breathe.

He clutches his hands into tights fists, digging bitten nails into his dry skin and presses his lips into a tight line as he inhales deeply.

She is more like a nightmare now, a haunting memory of yet another good thing that was fucked up by his life—by him.

He lets out a shaky breath before slowly dragging his eyes back up to that spot in his room, right next to the window. His eyes widen with shock and somewhat fear when he takes in the fact that her apparition is still there. Standing perfectly still, as if cautiously waiting for him to make the wrong move so it could disappear.

He isn't sure what to do, his hallucinations never last this long. His dreams are the ones that take up to more than 3 minutes, making him believe that he is actually awake. They always seem and feel so real, he believes it is one of the many haunting little gifts the Nogitsune left him after the possession.

He accidentally stumbles back, feeling all of a sudden weak on the knees. He is shaking, and losing air. He tries to feel his hands; he tries to remember that they are still there and that he needs them in order to come back.

He is dreaming, all of this time he's been dreaming.

The familiar pang of fear hits him right in his chest and he winces, doubling over in physical pain. He is petrified; he hasn't had one of these episodes in months. The flashbacks of the Nogitsune wash over him like a monster wave, drowning him in fear. He tries to come up for air but wave after wave of past nightmares keep washing over him.

He is down on his knees, his chest and shoulders heaving, when he notices his hands, and his attention is back on his fingers. He needs to count to ten; he needs to make sure this isn't a dream. There _needs_ to be five fingers in each hand for him to be able to breathe again.

He starts counting, beginning with a tremulous "one" and moving onto his index finger on his left hand. Something isn't right; his fingers keep moving, duplicating and then merging into each other making it extremely difficult to count. He is breathing through shivers, his voice trembling with each sound he produces. He is seeing double, and he needs to concentrate because he is losing air so quickly.

He feels sudden coolness clasp the sides of his face and it startles him. The sensation distracts him from his duplicating fingers and he looks up. "Shhh…shhh," the sound sweeps through him like a lullaby and he sighs. "It's okay. You're okay." He forgets about the fingers in his hands to pour all of his concentration on this voice.

"Shhh…" and he does, he hushes; he stops gasping for air, making this choked up noises. "You're okay." It's not a question, but it's not a statement either, it's rather omniscient but he nods nonetheless because he is breathing almost normally now.

His heart is still beating like crazy but his lungs have stopped feeling like if they are on fire. He blinks back the moist that was accumulating in his eyes and tries to focus on the shadow before him. He can make the outlines perfectly, and he wants to reach out to trace them with his trembling fingers.

His mind still feels hazy—a lack of oxygen to his brain—but his vision is focusing more with every passing second. The sudden blurry contours of the figure before him are becoming clearer, and his mind quickly registers familiar features that his memory will never forget.

Suddenly, he remembers why he's on the floor with his heart in his throat and he feels the rise of another panic attack coming.

_She's still here. I'm still dreaming._

He tries to bring his hand back to his face so he can re-start the counting but the figure before him is one step ahead of him.

"_Stiles_." He ignores it this time; he whimpers and closes his lids tight because the sound of his name coming from that familiar voice is so exact, so real that it actually hurts to hear it. But he tries his best to ignore it because it's a trick; he is so certain it's a trick.

_Wake up Stiles. Wake up!_

"Stiles. Look at me." She presses her forehead against his and he can feel the sudden splash of coolness and peace. It washes him momentarily but the panic soon stains him again. He sighs and then grunts. And then he feels an inner pull starting from his core and stretching out to the front of his head.

He wants to pull away, but then he is welcomed with immediate relief. All the pain, panic and fear are being drained out of him and his muscles relax to the sudden release. He no longer feels an oppressing weight on his chest, his head is no longer throbbing and his throat is no longer obstructed by the swelling of his heart.

"Breathe," and he does, he breathes just for her because she's helped him come out of the water once again. He can feel the steadiness of his heartbeat now and the warmth of her hands on his cheeks. His room is quiet with only the echoes of their steady breathing intermingling with each other.

Dawn breaks into his room, and the light of a new day reaches and touches them both caressing her first, starting from her knees to her hands and resting momentarily on her brown eyes before gently sweeping her hair.

Stiles never looks away, he takes her all in as nature reveals her. She is kneeling right before him, the soft light embellishing her, making her more real than life itself and his heart tightens in his chest.

The truth cannot be long hidden, he knows this and so he has to fight every urge not to break down when he finally calls out to her.

"Malia?"


	2. Things That Can't Long Be Hidden: 2

**I tried, I sincerely did. Bear with me please. This may be confusing as fuck but emotions are confusing as fuck, so you have to bear with me. **

**I hope it is worth the wait, and please tell me what you think. Tell me if i am crazy and if i am just throwing nonsense at you. Please! Please review, pretty please. Tell me if you ever get "the feels" with my fics. I really want to know because when i re-read them sometimes Im just like O_o. I need to know if im making my few valuable readers feel something. **

**Thank you to those who reviewed last time and i hope i hear from you again =) ENJOY!**

The room is vibrating with the eerie sound of silence. He can feel the static of time prickling on the surface of his skin, making every small hair on his body rise in protest.

He is hyperaware of the light streaming through his window, the dust particles dancing in mid-air, and the pair of deep brown eyes staring right at him.

_Malia_

It only took him three syllables to break down a barrier he hadn't known was there. He felt the moment it shattered, the exact moment a trillion atoms burst apart into thin air.

His mother once told him that names have power, the power to summon and dismiss. He never realized how right his mother had been until he called out Malia's name. Until he felt the change: the energy of time and space rushing through him like a tempest only to detain him here, right at the eye of the storm—right in themoment.

_This _moment…

He is looking at her as she stares right into him. Pain and sadness paints her face into a surreal work of art and it terrifies him.

It's been known for months now that Malia Tate disappeared. Her body was never found, no reports of the missing teenage girl were ever made, and Tate simply gave her for dead. Malia simply disappeared.

_She's gone. _

He tried looking for her, spent days retracing steps, living on yesterdays like he could actually change time. But he never got even close to finding her; she simply lost herself with every intention of not being found.

He never forgave her for that, not even when he screamed for her in between dreams.

She is looking right into him and he can hear every nerve in his body scream.

His hands are itching to swipe the strands of hair framing her face, and he has to turn his hands into tight fists to keep them from falling into old habits. His knuckles are bruising white as he keeps his stare fixed on her, afraid that if he blinks once she might disappear.

He isn't sure if it's a dream, if she is just another illusion. His mind is still teetering between fiction and reality, and he doesn't want to move; he doesn't want to touch her. He's afraid, afraid that she might not be real.

_One wrong move and she is gone. _

He's had her and he's lost her too many times to know damn well the pain that comes from it, from having and losing her over and over again.

She finally moves, she looks down momentarily before leaning towards him. He wants to scream out; he wants to fall back to keep her from getting any closer. But his body won't respond to his commands. Instead, it stays perfectly still inviting her into its space.

He can't look away, his eyes are glued to her proximity and to her every detail. He can smell her now, his senses heightening with the aroma of fresh earth and dew. He is fighting the inner desire to lean closer to her as well, just so he could inhale the faint scent of wild berries he knows buries deep under her pores.

She stops just a few inches from him; her lips slightly part and she emits a soft breath that trickles down his spine. His body immediately reacts with a shaky breath of its own causing her lids to flutter before falling slightly as if to sigh.

He's missed her; every inch of his anatomy has missed her. His body reacts to her in a way that he has no control over. His mind may be stubborn as fuck but the rest of him gives way to her like a reflex.

But he is going to keep telling himself that she left. He is going to replay that shattered promise in his head like a broken record. He is going to keep trying to convince his mind that she is dead.

_Malia is dead, and she is never coming back. _

His eyes are stinging now because he knows how fucked up he can be, but Stiles is stubborn and he knows how to keep a grudge. He knows how to keep guilt, pain, and regret like a fucking obscene necessity. He knows betrayal, and he knows to never forget it.

She left him.

_She left._

* * *

Malia came back with one single purpose in mind, to make sure that this boy in front of her was still alive. She doesn't understand farewells; she doesn't get the importance of words and expressing them. Malia simply does with actions; she analyzes and takes her time to examine in order to understand. She scents and touches, she watches carefully and waits. Sometimes she is too eager, sometimes she is too rash, and sometimes she can be a bit too cold. But that doesn't mean that she doesn't feel and hurt the same way that they all do. Malia is different but not all that different from the rest of the humans, from Lydia and Stiles.

Malia wants Stiles to know this; she wants him to understand because she spent a great portion of her human life dedicating it to understanding him. She used words when they were scarce in her mouth because he asked her too. She spent hours trying to figure out how to put emotions and thoughts into running sentences just so she could communicate with him. She used every ounce of her will power and strength to try, and she tried. She tried so hard, because she finally found someone else she could trust, someone who actually believed in her.

It is not that Malia needed the reassurance; it is not that she was dependent because Malia is independent as fuck. The proof is in the way she simply got up and left. She didn't need the approval of anyone, not even Stiles to figure herself out. They may call her selfish, cold-hearted, but Malia is human too after all. She hurts and breaks every once in a while, but eight years of living on her own in the wild taught her that the only person you can really trust and depend on is yourself. If you break into a thousand pieces the only one left to pick them up and put them back together is you. But Malia never figured that she would need someone other than herself to help her pick up those first few pieces.

She stands up, stepping out from that natural lighting, when she feels the surge of rejection emanating from Stiles to her. It stings her and bruises her, and she has the immediate need to run. She turns immediately to the window, ready to jump out of it once again, but Stiles must have read her mind because he shoots up ready to jump right after her.

She clenches her hands into tight fists, the four walls around her suddenly becoming to constraining and suffocating. She whips her head back to him in a menacing form but he doesn't flinch. He is too preoccupied monitoring her, and she wants to growl at him to stop.

She shouldn't have come back; she shouldn't have entered his room. She had seen him before, she knew that he was fine, that her nightmares were simply that—nightmares. Yet, she made up this bullcrap of an excuse to come close, to see him face to face. She can't remember what that excuse was now, as if that is important when he is looking at her like that, like she is the fucking sun and the mere sight of her is too blinding for him.

She takes a step forward towards the window, and Stiles quickly follows quite anxiously.

Malia can't have him jump out the window.

Stiles is stubborn, often senseless and ultimately clumsy. He jumps, and there is no guarantee he will land safely, but he won't care. Hell, he'll try to run after her even with a twisted ankle.

She emits a growl when he gets a little too close; warning him like a father warns his pup when he doesn't want the child to follow. But like she said, Stiles is stubborn.

She growls and he takes another step forward, right into the shadows with her. It's Malia's time to panic, because he is too close now and suddenly she is not ready for that. It's the fucking damn walls again, they are all around her and they are getting closer. She can't back away now because if she does her back will hit wall.

He is getting closer and something in his expression is changing. The fear and outright confusion is now stern determination. The light and the dark can play tricks on the eye, they can either deceive or they can unmask.

He is getting too close and Malia feels like prey, she tries to growl but his intense presence makes her threat drown in her throat. Instead she whimpers, and this makes him stop right on his track. She thinks that this is the end, that his features will soften and he will back away right into the light. But it doesn't, he doesn't, instead he looks right at her with a cold stare that freezes her.

"Why did you come back?"

It's a stern whisper but the words still have the power to resonate throughout the room, bouncing off the walls like uncontrollable limitless bullets.

Why did she come back?

Malia has never been the one to lie that is all Stiles.

"For _you_. I came back for you."

* * *

He will never understand the immense influence she has over him. It both angers and terrifies him; he never realized how intense it was until she left. He had known that Malia was a huge part of why he had managed to stay sane after the Nogitsune. He knew that it was due to her presence and her unconditional trust on him that made him somewhat stronger. She was more than a distraction, more than a companion, and more than a filter.

Maybe this is the reason for why he finds it so hard to forgive her even though he is so willing to take her back in without question. It's that it seems to him that he needs her more than she needs him and that is terrifying. She can leave whenever she pleases, and he can't.

He isn't ready to let her know that, he feels weak and vulnerable enough already to go as far as to tell her that she makes him lose his fucking mind.

Stiles hates himself for many reasons.

The scars on his skin and on his soul deforms and contorts him making him lose memory of who he once was. He focuses too much on those scars; he pours all his energy on reminding himself how those scars were created. How he caused most of them, and how they are so ugly and prominent under the light.

He isn't the same Stiles Stilinksi, he hasn't been for quite a long time. If he ever did find himself with scars and all, it had been under a different form of lighting. The type of light that the girl infront of him has only been able to produce.

_It's her fault that he is back to this, back to this shitty self, even worse than before. _

Stiles hates himself for many reasons, and he knows that this is one of them.

"Why did you come back?"

He should have just asked her what he's wanted to ask her. The question he has been asking her in his dreams for months now.

_Why did you leave?_

But Stiles has been on that bitter side for too long, and it's hard to come back from it. He should stop, he should simply back away but he is on that boat now and he can't see shore.

"You shouldn't have come back."

_You should have stayed. _

"Why did you come back?"

_I've missed you to the point of losing my mind. _

He doesn't know if he really wants a response from her because he simply keeps spewing venom at her. He will hate himself for this later; he hates himself for it already. He doesn't deserve for what comes next, she should have stabbed him instead, but Malia isn't like Stiles.

"For _you_. I came back for you."

No, Malia isn't like Stiles.

"Then why did you leave? "

He looks at her with less anger; he looks at her with hope.

She sighs and looks down at the floor and he has to keep his hand from gently grabbing her chin to lift her stare back to his.

"I never left _you_ Stiles. I would never leave you."

He furrows his brows because he doesn't understand. Of course she left him; he's been sleeping alone on that damn bed for months now.

"I've been coming back, but I just couldn't stay."

He doesn't get it, what does she mean by "been coming back"?

"Every month, I come back to Beacon Hills to see that you're okay—"

"But I _haven't_ been okay." Why can't she understand that? Why can't she see how screwed up he is?

She frowns at him and shakes her head, "You're still alive. You're _okay_."

Stiles feels frustration rise within him and he runs his trembling fingers through his hair, almost tearing them off of his scalp.

"I'm not _okay_. This is not 'okay', this is not being _alive_. Malia just fucking look at me!" His eyes are bleeding red and tears fall down his flushed cheeks with heavy loads of shame.

Malia does, she looks at him. She always looks at him, even when he is not noticing.

"I am."

She steps closer to him, pushing away all those suffocating walls. She reaches to wipe the tears streaming down his face and he steps closer to her, both forgetting about all those invisible lines and barriers.

His shallow breaths kiss her face and Malia is ready to help pull him out of another panic attack, but he slides his hand behind the nape of her neck and kisses her.

He kisses her a bit too desperately as if they don't have enough time. His breathing is still coming out in short breaths but he doesn't stop kissing her. He slips his other hand behind her neck and then his cupping her face, pulling her in like she is the oxygen supply he so desperately needs.

Malia can taste the salted tears that had fallen on his lips, the salty tears that keep on falling. She feels a knot tie in her throat and then she has to hold onto Stiles too because she feels like she won't be able to breath without him in a few seconds when her tears start falling as well.

They are a mess of short breaths and whimpers, but they don't care. They can't let go of each other, they don't want to.

Stiles keeps her face close when he pulls away from their kiss and rests his forehead against hers. Malia has trails of tears running down her eyes and she looks at him intently, pulling him in back to her but Stiles resists. He needs to tell her something, he needs to make sure.

"Don't you _ever_ leave me again. Malia, _please_."

His pleading eyes bore into her, and Malia is one hundred percent sincere when she nods her head. She finally manages to pull him back in and this time she kisses him, opening his mouth with her tongue so she could taste him and have him.

Stiles leans into her as she pulls him, and he slips his hands down to her waist wrapping his arms around her so he could feel her whole body press against his.

He won't let her leave. He needs and wants her, he cant hide that fact any longer, and he doesn't care anymore because right now Malia wants him as well.

He won't tell her, not yet. He'll make sure she knows it before he even says it. He is going to make her stay, he is going to try. If his emotions for her are not enough then he'll have no other choice but to have to let her go. But he won't think about that right now, he has her for now.

And for now that is all he needs.


	3. Stiles & Malia: After All

**I do not own any of the characters, Stiles and Malia both derived from the show Teen Wolf. This is my first FanFiction, I just had to do it something in me told me to type something about these two and well I did. To be completely honest I am not a die hard fan of Teen Wolf. Meaning: I have not seen all the seasons nor all episodes of any season. I have seen some episodes and several clips regarding Stiles and of Stiles and Malia. So please do not hate on me for not getting some stuff right, and Stydia shippers please be nice =)**

**This takes after season 4 episode 8, when Malia already knows about Peter and she tells Stiles that maybe she is no different from her father. **

**I was listening to the song WHAT IT IS by KODALINE at like 3 am when I thought about this scene in my head (I had just seen the episode of Teen Wolf the day before) and well for the first time i decided to type it. Im not sure im done with it but i might just stop here, it all depends on you guys =) So please i hope you enjoy!**

**After All**

He entered his room, tired. He hadn't gotten enough sleep the past few weeks. If he did find some rest it was only for 2 to 3 hours max. He spent most of his nights cruising around the neighborhood in his truck. His dad wasn't around the house to make him stay in his room at nights. He was usually out of the house all day and apparently all night. He was working night and day trying his best to pay off Stiles medical bills. Stiles had tried to get a job but his father refused, told him that he had one year left to try and make up for all his lack of attention to school. He wanted his son to graduate high school at whatever cost. Yet, the way Stiles was going at it, one figured that he would probably not be graduating high school that year.

Stiles threw his keys on his desk, and massaged the back of his neck, it was 5 in the morning. Good thing there was no school tomorrow, it was Friday. He slowly turned to face his bed when he saw something move through his clear glass board. Shit, he was seeing things again. It had been weeks since he last had an hallucination. It had made him feel stupid then, the hallucinations were usually of Malia. Her laying on his bed, climbing through his window, standing in the middle of his room, it had all seemed so realistic. Enough to make his heart jump out of his chest from excitement, and make him scream out her name while reaching out to her. It had crushed him the first time when he realized it hadn't been real, she hadn't been real. It had all been a cruel joke manifested by his brain. Yet, he had managed to fall for it several times. But not this time, this time he was going to be smart about it.

He got closer to the board, and saw her standing there just on the other side. He couldn't help it, his heart made this painful flip in his chest. He didn't call out to her; he remained silent just watching her as she got closer to the board. They were both standing just a few inches apart from each other, only a glass board separating them. Good, this will keep him from reaching out to her. His hands were itching to swipe the strands of hair hanging on her face, she looked pained and sad. She was so beautiful, how could he have never realized how beautiful she truly was. He let out a small sigh, and she shuffled just a little. Her eyes were fixed on him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. _That was Malia, always trying to get the upper hand_, he smiled at the thought of her frustration. That is when she moved, walking towards the end of the board. His heart beat sped, if she got close he wouldn't be able to contain himself and she would disappear. He wanted to back away when she reached his side, but he couldn't move. He stood frozen like an idiot staring at her.

He could smell her, her sweet exotic scent. _Shit! This is worse than the previous experiences_. He hated himself, how could he cause himself so much agony. She slowly got closer to him, and his breath became shallow, he could feel the warmth emanating from her. A few more steps and he would be completely wrapped in Malia, an illusion of Malia. He clenched his fists tight until his knuckles became white and he forced his eyes shut fighting the pain that was taking over. He wanted her to be real, he wanted to touch her and hold her, he wanted to apologize for lying to her, and he wanted her. He couldn't bear to see her disappear before his eyes, not by his touch, no not again. He felt a tickle of warmth play on his cheek and he opened his eyes startled, he let out a heavy sustained breath as he felt a shiver spread over his body. She was still there, examining his reactions with worried eyes. She spread her hand across his cheek and began to caress it with her thumb. He sighed, and leaned towards her touch, she felt so warm so real. She reached out with her other hand to brush his hair back gently, resting her hand on his other cheek when she was done. He looked at her and she looked at him and there was so much said between them through their eyes. He wanted her forgiveness and she so desperately wished to forgive him. She closed her eyes in pain and rested her forehead against his, moving her body closer to his. He had not touched her, not yet, he was containing the urge to hold her. He knew that once he touched her she would be gone. He wanted this feeling of her to last longer, he needed this, he needed her touch and warmth. He had not felt this kind of peace in so long. Malia began to sway her body a little before sliding her hand slowly from his cheek down his neck, pausing just a moment to caress the bottom of his jaw with her thumb before sliding her hand lower. Still swaying her body she moved closer to him, until she pressed her body against him, her hand now resting on his chest and her breathing becoming heavier.

Stiles could feel the warmth of her hand and the rise of her breasts on his chest. He could taste her breath, and he was becoming dizzy from her scent. He clenched his jaw as he fought the urge to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her body tight against his. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, tangling his fingers in the back of her head as he pulled her in for a deep kiss. He so desperately wanted to kiss her, and taste her. He closed his eyes at the thought of her lips against his and swallowed hard. Malia's breath hitched, and as if she had read Stiles thoughts she did exactly what he had imagined. In a breath she had slid her hand from his chest down to his waist crushing him tightly against her while she slid the other hand to the back of his head, clutching his hair in a fist as she pulled him in for a kiss. Stiles startled by the action froze _how it all could feel so real, her body, her lips_. Malia growled at the unresponsive Stiles, and pulled him harder digging her nails into his back. Stiles grunted opening his mouth, exactly what Malia had wanted as she kissed him harder. Stiles forgot himself as he felt her tongue against his, her sweet taste pouring in him like forbidden ambrosia. He closed his eyes and used both his hands to hold the nape of her neck as he kissed her back desperately. Malia growled again, the growl vibrated throughout her body making Stiles shiver as he felt it on his chest and in his mouth. He growled back, something to which he wasn't accustomed, and caught Malia by the waste pushing her upwards to his hips.

Malia wrapped her legs around his waist, as she kept kissing him hungrily, allowing him to take her wherever he pleased. He sat her on his desk, his hands on her hips while he stood in between her thighs. Malia grunted when she noticed where he had led her, she had hoped it had been the bed instead. Stiles pulled away from their hungry kiss and she whimpered, suddenly feeling cold at the absence of his mouth on hers. Stiles looked down at her, blinking rapidly as if trying to get his head together. His eyebrows knitted in confusion, his lips slightly parted as he gently reached out to caress Malia's face. Malia shivered at the touch and sudden warmth of his hand. His eyes grew wide as he touched her again, cupping her face in between his hands. She felt a shiver emanating from Stiles as he held her face, a sudden emotion playing on his face. It confused Malia, she had never seen such an expression on Stiles. She wanted to reach out and hug him, her protective instinct kicking in. "Ma-Malia?" his voice was a soft whisper, bewildered and frightened but with a hint of hopefulness. Malia knitted her eyebrows in both confusion and agitation. He had just been making out with her a few minutes ago and now he was questioning who she was. Her patience had reached its limits, and anger flared out of her. She pushed him away and got off the desk, stomping away from him like a little five year old. Stiles stood frozen where Malia had left him, dumbfounded. Malia reached the corner of Stiles bed and turned towards him "Yes Stiles! Malia."

_No, it can't be_. _She isn't real Stiles; Malia left months ago_. She wouldn't have forgiven him that easily, that was not like Malia. He had dreamt and envisioned her so many times, that he couldn't trust himself anymore. Yet, how could it not be her, she had touched him, kissed him and he had felt her. He had touched her and she hadn't disappeared. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood pumping ferociously through his veins. "Yes Stiles! Malia." he heard her, her impatient irritated voice. He couldn't help it, he smiled and a small laugh escaped him. _ It's her, it really is her._ Oh god, how he had missed her. He turned around to face her and there she was arms crossed in front of her chest, impatiently waiting for him to respond. When he didn't, and just stood there with a stupid look on his face, she flared again. "So what? I go away for a couple of months, and you suddenly can't remember who I am? Oh yeah, but you still have the balls to stick your tongue down my throat." Her hands were flying everywhere now, her eyes burning with rage but not enough for them to turn dangerously blue. He watched her, a stupider look spreading on his face. It looked as if he found it all amusing and not one bit frightening. Malia was furious now, why was he looking at her like that and why was he smiling like a dumbass. She closed her hands in fists and in a low growl she commanded him "Stiles. Speak."

Stiles realized that Malia was getting really upset, but unlike other times were he would have felt intimidated and maybe even a little scared, he felt excited and overly happy. He wanted to jump, he wanted to smile so hard that he would burst; he wanted to run around in the streets yelling to everybody that Malia had come back, to him. He felt like an idiot a one over joyed lucky son of an idiot that didn't know how to contain or emit his joy. Malia had started to clench her hands in small fists and a low growl with his name had escaped her lips. He didn't follow her command but instead walked quickly towards her and pushed her on the bed as he kissed her again. Firstly on the lips, then he kissed her cheeks, pecked the tip of her nose, kissed her forehead, the corners of her mouth, the lines of her jaw and he continued to lay kisses all over her face some down her neck. Malia was suddenly confused again, she was mad at him, he was playing with her, doing as he pleased. She couldn't just let him get his way with her. She aimed to push him off of her but when she tried to get up, Stiles pushed her back down and pinned her by the wrists against his bed. "No, you're staying right here" this time he had commanded in what seemed like a low growl. Malia's eyes grew wide in shock, _since when had he become so commanding_. She could push him off if she wanted to, throw him off of her, but instead she just wiggled around beneath him faking resistance. A grin spread on his face, "Not so tough are you little coyote". Malia was going to let him win, but his stupid grin suddenly made her change her mind. She pushed against him, making him spin so rapidly than in a second he was laying on his back, Malia saddled on him, and his wrists pinned against the mattress. "Not so fast Robin" Malia snickered in success, Stiles eyes grew wide. She waited for him to start complaining about her supernatural strength and how it was cheating, but instead "Wha- Robin? Oh My G- Malia we've talked about this, remember I'm Batma-" Malia rolled her eyes and shut him up with a kiss, he moaned softly in response as she continued to kiss him. His moans grew louder making the insides of her mouth tickle as she rocked back and forth on top of him. Malia smiled through the corner of her mouth, she had missed Stiles.

Malia had realized that no matter how upset and angry she was at Stiles, she couldn't stay mad at him forever. It was almost impossible with him, she had known this the minute she stepped out of his room that night. She had wanted to run back, hide in his arms and cry herself to sleep while listening to his heartbeat. She wanted to tell him that she would never forget his betrayal but she would forgive him, of course she would. Yet, her pride hadn't let her and she left him. Malia had lied to him too, she had asserted once that she would never leave without him but she had, she did. Malia had only done it to find her mother, her biological mother, she needed to know more about herself. She couldn't be the clueless Malia forever, she hated it. Yes, she had felt betrayed by Stiles but even still with all her anger she had known that he had done it for a reason. Though she still hated that Stiles hadn't trust her enough, hadn't believed that she could've handled the truth. If he had told her, she wouldn't have left so drastically, she would have listened to what Stiles had to say about the situation. She would have trusted him with everything, but not now not anymore.


End file.
